Lover from This Life
by Ciera Laurent
Summary: With the memories from her previous life stuck in her mind, Delilah Eaton must reconcile herself with the girl she once was, while her father deals with his own past.
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE Now ~Delilah

Some says that before the age of two, the kids keep the memories from their past lives.

Everyone says so, but no one ever thinks about explaining why these memories exist, or why they would disappear after the kids turn two. Or I should say, we don't even get a clear idea of what the thing 'past life' is.

Alright, maybe it's just me being persistent, stubbornly pressing on until I get an answer, but I really hope someone could solve this question for me.

Because, let's just believe there is a thing called 'memory from the previous life', I am the lucky 0.01%, the one who got stuck with her memories for a while longer. If 14 years could be considered 'a while'.

I had the memories of my last life until a few weeks ago. Of course, I don't remember the tiniest bit of them now, but solely the fact of me knowing that I've kept those memories around for quite a long time is remarkable enough.

Also, until a few weeks ago, my hair was golden.

My hair color now is a kind of purple-blue, and even though that obviously is dyed, a few days before I dyed my hair, it turned back into dark brown.

Why I said 'turned back' is because when I was first born, dark brown was my natural hair color (same as my parents), not golden. According to my parents, when I was about nine months old, my hair just mystically became golden.

Don't ask me why, because nobody knows. It just changed its color in less than a few days, without any reasons.

I take out my comb, smoothing my hair into a ponytail, while thinking about how I can style my hair next time.

All of sudden a pebble collides with my window, making a crisp 'ding'. I don't even have to look to know that it's Nicholas.

I can't help but smile. I am totally not that kind of sweet, cute, angle-like girl, but, according to my friends, whenever I'm with my boyfriend, I morph into 'a little kitten'. Maybe, I don't dare to discover the truth.

I look out the window, waving at Nicholas – wearing his signature black jacket with the familiar crooked smile on his face – who is standing on the street way downstairs, and lift my purse, walking out my door. It is now Friday evening, 7 o'clock, our usual dating time.

Before I close the door, I glance at the frames on my desk. There are three in total, one is a family portrait – me and my parents – the other is me and my friends, and the last one is a blurred, fuzzy photo, since it was cut from a security camera data. In the picture is a blonde girl smiling at someone beside her, I can't see her features clearly, and I have never met her, but from Dad's description, I can roughly imagine what she looks like – blonde hair, blue eyes, small and thin, but radiating a kind of determination and perseverance.

"I'm going on my date now, Sister."

I have no idea why I call her Sister. Since I had my memories, she has been continuously called 'Sister' by me, even though we are not related, and she would be at my mom's age… if she was still alive.

I walk past the living room, my eyes landing on my parents, who are cuddled on the sofa watching TV, and suddenly decide that it'd be better if I let them know where I'm going. "I have a date with Nicholas today, I'll probably be back at midnight."

Actually, they don't really set that many rules for me. For them, my freedom seems to be more important than any other things, and I'm extremely grateful for it. I can go anywhere I want, do everything I like, as long as I don't hurt myself. This life of mine makes many of my friends jealous.

"Okay, got it. Bye, Tri – Delilah," my dad says, making this mistake again.

"My name is Delilah Eaton, not Tri Delilah Eaton," I say jokingly. This doesn't really bother me, but hearing the beginning of my old nickname unsettles me all the same.

The three of us burst out laughing at the same time. This is a punch line we've used countless times throughout these few weeks, but somehow we are still able to be amused by it.

"Alright, Nicholas is waiting for me, I gotta go. Bye."

They wave at me, and then turn their attention back to the TV.

I genuinely think that the interaction between me and my parents has improved after I dyed my hair. I know this sounds ridiculous, I mean, what kind of parents want their kid to dye her hair into this kind of color at such a young age? (Though my parents are not to be overlooked – they both have tattoos, which they got at my age) But the way we get along with one another has become more natural, or I should say, less stilted. I remember I used to make them lose their bearings, and this is not a funny thing that we can joke about. No, it is not funny. Not at all.

They say I resemble Sister very much. The same blonde hair (my hair is no longer golden, anyway), blue eyes (mine are a deeper shade), the same tiny body shape (I'm a bit taller, and I'm inexplicably proud of it, even though my parents are both tall, and my height is actually unreasonably short), both stubborn, both brave, with the same fire burning inside our hearts. I like everything she liked, and hate everything she hated.

We even have the same name. Or I should say, my former name was exactly like hers.

Before I walk through the door, for a split of a second, I picture Sister sitting on that sofa in the living room.

She never got the opportunity to come inside this house, and I sometimes wonder, what it would be like if she could come. If she's the one sitting on the sofa, not me or my mother?

Truth to be told, I have asked my father.

Only a few days ago, I asked him, "If given the chance, would you give Mom away in exchange for Sister?"

If I weren't his daughter, if I didn't know what he's been through, didn't understand the pain in his heart, his expression then would definitely be described as 'very classic'. He looked like he was seeing a very gruesome ghost squeezing his neck.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Then… me?"

Honestly, I had no idea what on Earth had gotten to me, making me ask this kind of 'exciting' question. I was really nervous as I waited for his answer.

Part of me wanted to hear 'no', because I am still my father's daughter after all. Every kid wants to be the favorite of her father, to be the one that always comes first in her daddy's heart.

Part of me wanted to hear 'yes'. I… I don't know why.

I can still recall it clearly. A few days ago, when I was doing my math homework (well, let's just say school isn't as free as home), I sorta got frustrated, and I accidentally teared my worksheet into half. (My parents sometimes tease me, saying I'm as violent as Sister, but as soon as I remember it was not the first time I did such a brutal thing to my homework, I have to admit I'm a bit more violent than Sister) The first thing I saw was a ripped '10'. A ragged fissure stretched between 1 and 0, like a valley, like a torrent no one can ever cross.

I stared at my worksheet afterward, completely frozen, and it took me a while to recover from my trance. Maybe that was how my dad felt.

"I… I don't know..." was all he gave me.

I said nothing back, only nodding and pasting on a smile that felt a bit forced even to myself, because I just didn't know what to say, or what I wanted to say.

After that, no one has mentioned this episode again, and my father and I pretend nothing has ever happened. But I haven't forgot my question for him, and I'm sure he hasn't, either, but I don't think he will ever be able to answer it.

"Hey, Del," Nicholas greets me while ruffling my ponytail, earning himself a perfect glare.

"Let me ask you, if I die, what will you do?" I blurt out without thinking.'

His eyes widen, adding another 'very classic' expression to my collection, making me laugh. "Whatever, just pretend I didn't say anything."

Maybe this is the difference between Sister and me. Staying in the memories of the ones I love isn't enough for me. Memories, no matter how important, or how profound they are, will always disappear sooner or later. They simply don't stay alive.

_Sister, I don't want to die, you'll protect me, right?_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE 13 years ago ~Tobias**

I didn't tell Christina the real reason I came home late.

I told her I had to work overnight, but actually I clocked out of work in the afternoon. That morning Caleb came to inform me that Amar had something for me and told me to go to the Bureau.

In fact, I didn't really want to go. That place, even after all these years, still hold too many painful memories. Even though it had been 13 years, even though the memories in my head were already faded, every time I walked into the Bureau, it still reminded me of her. It still reminded me that in this seemingly harmless building, she lost her life for her brother, for that whole city of ours.

I wasn't as I used to be, needing only a memory that flashed across my mind to feel like someone was blocking my air supply, killing me in a slow, agonizing way. Now, whenever I thought about her, there was only a kind of numb feeling inside my chest.

I still missed her. There were still some sleepless nights when I sat alone on the sofa, near a window of dark sky and city lights, silently reminiscing everything we had been through together, silently wondering if the history was altered, where we would be, what we would be doing. Alone in a room of tranquility, where my voice got magnified, asking, 'how are you doing'.

Even though I had Christina now, Tris still held an irreplaceable position in my heart. Nothing could ever change that.

"Hey, what are you doing outside, come in," Amar said, patting on the shoulder.

I didn't want to come, but under Amar's persuasion, I was here.

I shook my head, stubbornly refusing to step into the Bureau.

He sighed, "Alright. How are you doing?"

"Not bad. I've been busy at work these days, but it's not too much for me. Christina seems to be happier after she quit her job, though she keeps complaining about how tiring it is to stay at home all day and look after Trissy," I said, pretending not to know the true meaning of his words.

He knew I was evading, but didn't say anything about it, only silently accepting my lame answer. "Speaking of your daughter, how has she been? Still attached to you?"

"As always. She still cries a lot, and yeah, she follows me around whenever I'm at home," I said, smiling.

Trissy, my three-year-old daughter, was like the sun to my world. For me, she was the one that kept me going on with a smile, always giving me a sliver of hope when I felt like giving up.

Caleb said she looked a lot like Tris when she was little. I didn't know how I felt about that comment. Sometimes I thought it was good, like I could always see her beside me, but sometimes I was scared, scared that some memories and emotions buried deep inside me would resurface when I was the most vulnerable, when I had no way to fight them off.

Trissy's real name was Beatrice.

When we knew that the baby would be a girl, all it took for us was a glance between us to decide on the name. Beatrice. In honor of her, of our history, but it also meant that we both couldn't let go of what was already in the past.

"I called you here today because I want you to have this," Amar said, fishing out a photo from his pocket, "Actually, I printed it out like years ago, but then I forgot its existence, until yesterday when I found it in a drawer. I was thinking maybe you'd like to keep it."

I took the photo from him. It was blurred, and obviously cut from a security camera data – a data from a long time ago. At first, I didn't know it was, but as I was about to ask, I saw her raven tattoo. They were so blurry I almost couldn't recognize them, but it was her. No doubt.

She was smiling at someone beside her in the photo, and she looked free, happy, as if there was never a burden on her shoulder. Her smile was just as I remembered, sweet, but determined.

In the photo, she looked so… alive.

I simply stared.

The memories came back like waves in an ocean, and each image was unexpectedly clear, as if those thirteen years were non-existent to them, like they had never been worn by time. I couldn't stop the emotions that accompanied them, sorrow, anger, regret, anguish, yearning, love… Everything I had been keeping at bay for the whole thirteen years exploded all at once.

And then, I cried.

Amar put an arm around me, as if he wanted to comfort me, but didn't know what to do.

This was the first time I ever cried in years.

For her.

It was already 11 when I got home.

I stood in front of the Bureau for a long time, my eyes fixated on the photo, my fingers caressing her through the sheer paper, slowly recovering from my breakdown.

I didn't even notice the sky getting dark, it was until Amar reminded me did I realize how long I had been stuck in the depth of my mind.

I said farewell to him, turning around and walking away, and I was already through the fence when it finally occurred to me that I forgot to say thank you. I was truly grateful, because other than memories and the plain jar that once contained her ashes, this picture was all I had left of Tris.

I considered going back, but then decided against it.

I walked back home in the dark just like that. I wasn't paying any attention to the road I was taking, I just let my instinct propel me forward. Somehow, under the hazy moonlight tonight, the familiar streets felt like an alien world to me.

Opening the door of our apartment, I saw Christina curled up on the sofa, her head on the arm of the furniture, looking at me with bleary eyes. The TV was still on, and the brightness emitting from the screen became the only light in the room.

"Hey, you're back. How was work going?" Her voice sounded tired and a bit grumpy, like she just woke up. Maybe the sound of the door woke her up. I stared at her, confused – she rarely asked me anything about my work – and a few second later I remembered the excuse I gave her.

"It was okay. I finished most things today, so there won't be as much work on my agenda next week," I said, trying to ignore the guilt welling up in my chest. I didn't like to lie to her, but I had to admit I still didn't have the courage to tell her about the photo. "You've been waiting for me?"

"Yeah. Trissy is already asleep. She tried to stay up as late as she could, because she wanted to wait for you," she said with a smile on her face, "I am the one that takes care of her twenty-four hours a day, so why does she like you better?"

I smiled, too, "Maybe I'm just so attractive."

I turned on the light, just in time to see her roll her eyes. "You wanna go to sleep first?"

She looked like she was about to shake her head, but then a yawn explained her condition now very clearly. "Alright, I'm really tired. Goodnight."

She walked over to me, pulling me into an embrace.

"Goodnight," I whispered, kissing her forehead. Some displays of affection had become a habit for us, but I couldn't help but tense up today. Christina didn't notice my unusually rigid stance, probably because she was too exhausted. She let her arms drop, and then disappeared into our room.

I took out Tris's photo, staring at it for the umpteenth time. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, I still got dragged into whirlpool of memories.

It's enough for today, I told myself, tearing my eyes from the photo.

I decided to put the photo in Trissy's room. There were a couple of empty frames in her room, and one of them was this size.

Maybe someday I would tell her Tris's story, tell her that there was a girl with the same as she did, and how selfless, how brave this girl was.

With the light from the living room, I tiptoed into Trissy's room, making as few noises as possible. She was fast asleep, her tiny body tucked into the quilt, looking peaceful, as if she was having a good dream.

I sat at the edge of the bed that was way too large for her, my hand caressing her golden hair. Christina and I panicked when her hair changed color, but Caleb this kind of thing tended to happen.

All of a sudden she opened her eyes, startling me.

"Daddy!" she squealed, jumping into my arms excitedly. She didn't look the slightest bit like someone that was in a deep slumber just a second ago, and I started to suspect that she was only pretending to be asleep.

"Hey. You're still so full of life in this hour. I wonder where you got your energy," I said, poking her cheek.

She giggled, a naughty glint in her eyes, "It's natural. Mommy always says that I have Dauntless genes. But what is Dauntless?"

I instantly became speechless. How could I tell my three-year-old daughter about the factions that categorized and divided us, the war that made the faction system crumble, and… our past? She wouldn't understand, and I couldn't bring myself confess those stories not recorded in history to her.

"I'll tell you when you grow up."

She pouted, her reluctance and dissatisfaction written all over her face, "_When I grow up._ That's what Mommy says, too, but I'm already old enough."

I couldn't suppress my laughter, "You're only three and you say you're old enough."

"I am," she insisted, not giving up. Her persistent expression did make her look a lot like Tris.

For a second, I saw her. I hastily lifted my head, averting Trissy's eyes, just in case I got brought to a world full of memories again.

My eyes landed on the calendar, and something flashed across my mind. The photo in my hand seemed to weight a hundred pounds more.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of Tris's death.

I made a decision.

"You said you wanted to know what Dauntless is, right? Do you want me to bring you there tomorrow?"

She looked at me with a serious face, nodding, and then said naively, "So Dauntless is a place?"

"Not really. I'll show you tomorrow," I said, mentally adding one more sentence. Dauntless is not just a place… it's so much more than that.

She snuggled into her quilt, her face almost scrunched up by the big smile, looking like she couldn't wait to start the journey tomorrow. A while later, her smile slowly faded, and at first I thought it was because of sleep, then I realized her eyes were on something in my hand. Tris's photo.

She stared motionlessly at it, her face becoming inscrutable. That wasn't an expression that belongs to a child.

"Promise," she whispered, her voice so small that it could just get lost in the darkness without being heard, but at the same time, her voice was like an echo, reverberating in the room again and again. "Goodnight, Daddy."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO 13 years ago ~Tobias**

"Wow, it's so cool!" Trissy shouted in the strong wind, poking her head out of the train door. Even though the wind kept making her hair messy, she still insisted on standing next to the door.

We usually didn't take the train, and I had also gradually forgot the rush of jumping onto a moving train. As the days went by, the trains seemed to become a part of the past, too. But today was different.

On the way to the Dauntless compound, I kept wondering if things had changed a lot there.

I hadn't visited the place that was once my 'home' for a while since I stopped going into my fear landscape, though the sound of rushing water in the chasm, the image of the forever bustling Pit, and the smell of sweat of dust in the training room sometimes popped into my mind.

There were a lot fewer people living in the Dauntless compound now, and black was no longer the only decoration, but every now and then we saw people dressed in black on the streets. They boldly displayed their tattoos and the piercings on their faces, as if to proclaim their origin to the whole world.

Even though it had been years, the factions were still not forgotten. It was probably because for us, they were not just a system, they were a part of us. And that part was not so easily left behind.

I glanced at Trissy, a child born into the world without factions, and couldn't help wondering how she would see 'Dauntless' - a place, a group of people, a way of life.

The train slowed down, and then stopped in front of the Dauntless compound.

"We're here," I said to Trissy, holding her hand as we got off the train. She was almost skipping as she dragged me towards the entrance, seemingly having more energy than usual.

When we walked into the building, a sentence slipped from my mouth, "Welcome to Dauntless."

The cafeteria in Dauntless hadn't changed much except for the hugely dwindled crowd. The furnishing was the same, and so was the taste of food.

Trissy and I sat in the corner of the cafeteria, eating chocolate cake. It was the special trait of Dauntless before and was also something on the top of our shopping list whenever we threw a party.

This morning I took Trissy on a tour around Dauntless compound – the Pit, the training room, the initiate dormitories, the apartments, the tattoo parlor (she was tempted to get a tattoo, but I didn't let her), and the control room I used to work in. Probably because I hadn't been here for too long, I kind of forgot the layout here, and I even felt lost when I walked along a more secluded corridor.

Trissy liked it here a lot. For her, it was like an adventure, like there could be a hidden box of treasure everywhere. She asked nothing on the way, and I had to admit, I was relieved.

There were only three places left for her to go. The net, the chasm, and the fear landscape room.

As if reading my thoughts, she asked, "Where are we going later?"

"The net," I said. According to Zeke, a while ago they wanted to take down the net and reconstruct that area, but then the construction just stopped somehow.

She tilted her head, confused, "What net? Are we playing ball or something?"

"No," I shook my head, unable to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, "You'll see later."

"Oh..." she stuffed a piece a cake into her mouth, and then got pulled into her own world of thoughts. Probably debating what the net was for.

I looked at her, all of a sudden realizing how well she would fit into Dauntless. Not only because of her particular interest in the compound, or the carefree way she acted here, but also because of how she was. By the way she danced along the corridors, you would think this was where she was born. For her, every moment in the Dauntless compound couldn't get more natural. If she was born into the era when factions still existed, she would absolutely be a legendary Dauntless. Maybe she was like Tris, born with a bright, burning fire.

"Let's go to the net!" Trissy said, tugging on my sleeve and extracting me from my little world.

I nodded, leading her through the cafeteria door. I saw a familiar profile as we passed one of the tables – I didn't remember his name, but I was sure he was someone I knew in Dauntless.

I said nothing, and neither did he.

The net wasn't far away from the cafeteria, and I couldn't help but realize that the last half of the road was the first I took here in Dauntless. For every initiate, including me, their Dauntless lives all started from the net.

"It's big!" Trissy exclaimed, closing the distance between her and the net, and stood on her tiptoes, stretching her hand out to touch the edge of it. "I want to go up there."

I carried her on my shoulder, causing her to scream. She jumped onto the net, her weight making it dip and then throw her into the air. She laughed, totally enjoying herself as she started bouncing on the net. Maybe this was how the Dauntless born kids killed their time.

A while later she quieted down. Sprawling across the net, she had her eyes trained on the sky above. I lifted my head, the brilliant afternoon sun making me squint.

"Do people jump from up there?" Trissy inquired. To be honest, I was surprised that she could guess the function of the net.

"They did."

"Wow," she said, not noticing my use of past tense, "It looks so high and scary, but it must be fun."

I shook my head, a bitter smile working its way to my face. I simply couldn't understand the adjective 'fun', as I still remembered that the last time I did this, I was scared as hell. It took me a while even to get near the ledge.

Seeing my contorted expression, Trissy snickered, "Daddy are you afraid?"

"Let's just say I wouldn't do it if I had a choice," I said, thinking about how I was forced to jump.

"Then you're afraid," she said like it was the most obvious this in the world.

I climbed into the net and lay down beside my daughter, the short two years of my Dauntless life replaying themselves in my head. There weren't that many scenes I could recall clearly, but I remember every moment I stood there as an instructor into the second year of his work.

That was the first time I truly saw her.

I leaned against the railing above the chasm. Somehow, the water sounded extra loud today.

The chasm was actually my destination.

But I had the urge to turn around and leave, or fool myself into believing that I'd already forgot where the stairs leading down was.

I turned my head and focused on the glass building behind, my eyes trailing the road leading to the fear landscape room, the road I had walked so many times. Until a few years ago, I used to go into my fear landscape so frequently that it was like a habit to me. There was only one reason why I did that: I wanted to see if I had move on. At first it was Marcus. I wanted to prove that I was no longer that kid with his shoulders hunched, who was afraid of his own father and the feel of pain as belts collided with his back. I needed to see I had become stronger. And then it was Tris. I didn't enjoy watching her die in front of me, not at all – I loathed this scene, hearing the love of your life calling for help, but incapable of doing anything other than stare as she ceased to breathe – but no matter how agonizing it was for me, I still kept going into my fear landscape, feeling my heart being torn again and again, because I wanted to see that someday, she wouldn't get dragged into the abyss of death in front of me anymore, that someday, I would be able to mend this scar that cut too deep.

After Christina and I got together, I gave the rest of the serums to Cara, and then didn't return.

I didn't get the opportunity to get the evidence of me letting go of my past, but I thought, stopping going into my fear landscape was a breakthrough. It was enough.

I couldn't help wondering what my fear landscape would look like today. Were there still four fears? I didn't dwell on it, and I believed I wouldn't get the chance to see it.

I wouldn't go into it again.

Trissy stood beside me, her hands gripping the railing as she inched her head out to see the torrent rushing in the chasm. Before I could suggest going home or going to the glass building to her, she pointed at the chasm and asked, "Can we go down there?"

There was no turning back.

"Yes," I said, and my body felt more rigid than ever, as if lead had replaced my blood. I led her to the secret passage in the corner, and we descended the stairs.

When we were close to the bottom, I put my hand into my pocket, intending to take the photo out. But as my finger connected with the edge of it, there seemed to be some mysterious force freezing my movement, making me immobile. I could feel my breath trembling.

"It's just sooo loud!" Trissy was oblivious to my change; she was too busy admiring the scenery down in the bottom of the chasm.

She crouched down, putting her hands into the water, and then splashed it all over me. The cold sensation woke me up.

She laughed, scooping some water up again, but this time she held her arm up toward the sky, and let the water fall like drops of rain onto her.

"Be careful not to fall into the water," I said, using my sleeve to wipe her wet cheeks.

"I don't want to die yet, Daddy," she said, sitting on the rock and kicking water.

I was too preoccupied to notice how strange her sentence was

After making sure she was safe, I went into the depth of the chasm, where everything was concealed by shadows. On a flat, damp rock was a plain jar, with a bit of water occasionally passing it like a stream. There was no decoration on the jar, except for a line of carved words along the lid.

– _Beatrice Prior ~ the selfless, the brave_

After I spread her ashes from the zip-line, we put the jar here, and someone – I had no clue who – carved these words.

We didn't hold a funeral for her. There was no one to declaim everything she had done, no one to chant her name again and again, and no one to announce to the world, how important, how special she was. It made her look so ordinary, so insignificant. But we all knew that wasn't the truth. Her life was so extraordinary, her death, just like the girl she was, was so brave, and so selfless. For us, she was someone irreplaceable, someone that would stay in our minds forever.

I opened the jar, and tenderly put the photo inside. Last night, when I decided to bring Trissy to the Dauntless compound, I felt like this was where the photo belonged.

I looked at her smile, a hole inside me being ripped up and stitched back at the same time. If there was really a world on the other side, I hoped she was smiling like that, like there was no burden, no heartbreaks for her.

I knelt down, and put the lid back.

There was once a time when I had numerous things to say to her, but now, as I knelt, at the bottom of the chasm years after, I couldn't find my voice. When I had the chance to talk to her, I didn't do that, and it was until now, when she couldn't hear it anymore, did I realize how many words I should have said, but kept hidden in my heart.

– _Thank you, sorry, you are the most important person to me, you changed my life, I need you, I love you…_

I closed my eyes.

I heard footsteps behind me, and turned around to see Trissy walking towards my direction. "Daddy what are you do-" All of a sudden she stopped in mid-movement, completely motionless, as if time was frozen. And then she stumbled back, her features tainted by shock and terror. She started crying.

I rushed towards her and took her into my arms, totally at a loss. I had no idea why she suddenly broke down.

I turned my head, my eyes on the jar and Tris's photo for one last time, and silently murmured, "Goodbye."

I took Trissy away from the chasm, and as I reached the end of the staircase, I saw Christina.

"I was wondering where you took Trissy at such an early time."

I couldn't decipher the emotion behind her voice.


End file.
